Chapter Forty-Five Nathan

The sterile smell of the hospital slammed into me as soon as I burst through the sliding doors. It was a scent that promised both healing and heartbreak, and right then, I wasn't sure which one my family would be facing. I brushed past the nurses and visitors with single-minded intensity; nothing mattered except getting to Justin's room.

"Room 305," I muttered under my breath, repeating the text I'd received from Lily. I dodged a gurney wheeling by with a precision that only years of navigating the tight alleys and crowded markets of San Francisco could teach. My boots echoed loudly on the linoleum floor, announcing my presence long before I reached the door.

I found it slightly ajar, and without knocking, I pushed it open. The sight that greeted me pulled at something deep in my chest—Ma and Lily were there, but Ba and Alex were conspicuously absent. Lily sat quietly, her face drawn tight with worry, while Ma paced near the window, her fingers working a string of jade prayer beads.

Justin lay there, still as stone on the hospital bed, machines beeping a haunting rhythm that filled the otherwise silent room. Lily's hand was clasped over his, her eyes fixed on his pale face, willing him to wake up. Ma's pacing had worn an invisible path in the floor, her movements restless and anxious, but her eyes never strayed far from Justin.

"Ma," I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

She spun around at the sound of my voice, and for a moment, she just looked at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, the same deep brown as mine, mirroring a storm of emotions—fear, relief, love.

Then, with a sob she seemed unable to hold back, she crossed the few steps between us and wrapped me in a trembling embrace.

"Nathan, I'm so glad you're here," she whispered, her breath warm against my neck.

I hugged her back, feeling the tight knot in my own throat. "Of course, Ma. I wouldn't be anywhere else."

We stayed like that for a heartbeat longer before she pulled away, wiping at her tears with the sleeve of her blouse. She glanced back toward Justin, her expression softening with a mother's love, before returning her weary gaze to me.

"What happened?" My eyes flicked between her and Lily, searching for answers. "How is he?"

Lily glanced at Ma, a silent conversation passing between them before she spoke. "Justin and his boyfriend were at the club. Both got caught up in the attack."

The words hit like a sucker punch. I felt my pulse thunder in my ears, a mix of shock and an all-too-familiar anger bubbling up. "His boyfriend? I didn't even know he...why didn't he tell me?"

"Justin kept it close to the chest," Lily said, her voice soft but steady. "He was scared about how the Serpents would react if they found out."

"Found out what?" I pushed, needing to hear it out loud, though I already knew.

"About him being gay, Nathan." There was a hint of steel in Lily's tone now, a protective edge that I recognized all too well. "And he was right to be worried. Ba and Alex...they left as soon as they heard."

Their reaction shouldn't have surprised me—Ba had his old-fashioned ways, and Alex always tried too hard to impress. But it gutted me all the same. That they could just walk away from my little brother when he needed them most...

"Where'd they go?" I asked, my voice low and dangerous, a familiar itch for action working its way under my skin.

"Didn't say," Lily replied, her eyes not leaving mine. "Just mentioned something about paying a visit to another room."

I clenched my jaw, the muscles ticking. The need to protect Justin surged through me, fierce and undeniable.

"Justin is my brother," I said, the words slicing through the tension like a blade. "He's blood, and I'll stand by him—and they should too."

Lily nodded, her eyes glossing with unshed tears. Ma just kept pacing, wringing her hands, but she gave me a look of gratitude. I couldn't stay here, not while there was something to be settled.

"Where exactly did Ba and Alex go?" My voice was even, but inside, I was anything but calm. I could tell Lily was lying when she said they hadn't said anything.

"Room 380," Lily whispered after a moment, hesitating as if she knew she was sending me into a storm.

"Thanks." I didn't wait for anything more. I squared my shoulders and left Justin's room, the sterile smell of the hospital mingling with the iron scent of my rising fury.

As I stalked down the hallway, nurses and visitors stepped aside, sensing the dark cloud that hung over me. I didn't have time for niceties—not now. The protective instinct that had always been a part of me roared to life, hard and unyielding.

Anger curled in my stomach, hot and bitter. How could they just leave Justin like that? Because of who he loved? It was a betrayal I couldn't, wouldn't, stand for.

The anger wasn't new; it had always simmered beneath the surface, a constant companion amidst the violence and cold decisions of our world. But this—this was personal. This cut deeper than any knife or bullet ever could.

I reached room 380, the numbers etched in black against the white door. Two Triad-loyal cops stood at attention near the entrance, their eyes sharp beneath their caps. They knew me on sight, and there was no question, no hesitation as they stepped aside to let me enter. It was a silent acknowledgment of my place in the hierarchy—a respect born of fear and recognition.

My gaze swept the room, taking in the stark details: the way the pale blue curtains hung limply against the window, the antiseptic gleam of the tiled floor, the figure lying vulnerable in the hospital bed.

Alex and Knuckles flanked the bed, standing like sentinels. Their conversation ceased as I approached, and the atmosphere tightened, suffocating any stray sounds. My brother Alex, with his black hair and tan skin, looked up at me, his brown eyes revealing nothing. His ability to mask his emotions had always unnerved me; it was the mark of someone who'd lived too long in shadows and secrets.

Knuckles' broad shoulders were hunched forward, his hands clasped behind his back—a posture that spoke of control barely kept in check. He didn't turn to face me, but I felt the weight of his presence just the same.

"Where's Ba?" I asked bluntly.

"He left," Alex interjected, his voice even but carrying an edge that hinted at irritation. "Said there was no point hanging around with this guy out cold."

My jaw clenched, anger flaring hot beneath my skin. To leave his own son just like that—to walk away when he was on death's door—that was a betrayal that cut deeper than any knife. My father had always taught us that family was everything. But apparently, that code cracked under the weight of his prejudices.

Before I could react, a soft groan punctured the beep and whir of machines. The three of us snapped our attention to the man in the bed. His body twitched, his head lolling to the side as the monitors beeped steadily, tracking the reluctant return to consciousness.

"Looks like he's waking up," Knuckles murmured, his voice low but carrying an undercurrent of satisfaction that I found disturbing.

The man's eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, I saw the rapid movement beneath them as he struggled to surface from the depths of unconsciousness.

Rage welled hot and deep in my chest.

I was going to make him suffer.

His eyes finally cracked open, glazed with confusion and fear. They darted around the room, taking in the clinical whiteness of the walls, the harsh lights above, and then landing on the three of us. His gaze lingered on Alex, flitted to Knuckles, and then settled on me—the last stop in a sequence of dread.

A sharp intake of breath, the hitch of panic; it was written all over his face as clear as day, even as his body lay there broken and powerless. He looked terrified, the kind of terror that grips you when you know there's no way out.

"Welcome back," I said, my voice cold and devoid of any warmth I might feel for my little brother lying in a different room.

This man was part of the reason Justin was fighting for his life, and I felt nothing but icy detachment as I stared at him, waiting for him to speak. He didn't say anything, though—just started to stammer, just like they always did.

Anyone who knew who I was knew to be afraid.

It got in the way sometimes.

"Talk," I demanded, leaning in close, my hands on either side of the foot of the bed. The guy was cuffed to his hospital bed, clearly the perp—and the chains on his cuffs rattled as he tried to escape me. The sterile scent of the hospital mingled with the acrid tang of fear emanating from the man before me. My eyes locked onto his, and I could feel the power I held over him. "Who's doing this?"

He hesitated, his Adam's apple bobbing in a visible swallow. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then clamped it shut, eyes flickering to Alex and Knuckles in a silent plea for clemency that wouldn't come.

"Please..." His voice was barely audible, choked with terror, and it did something to me—stirred a dark satisfaction deep in my gut.

"Please what?" I growled, my patience wearing thin. "Spit it out!"

But he shook his head, lips pressed tightly together, refusing to speak. A muscle worked in his jaw, betraying the inner turmoil as he weighed his options. He had none, really, but fear can make you hold on to impossible hopes.

"Nothing to say, huh?" I stood up straight and nodded at Alex. "Cover his mouth. And Knuckles—hand me that scalpel."

The man's eyes bulged, pleading with me as Alex's hand slid over his mouth. I took the scalpel and turned it in my fingers, then I pulled the blanket back to reveal the man's foot.

With clinical precision, I slid the scalpel over his arch, drawing blood. The man howled into Alex's hand, but it was so muffled I didn't think anyone would hear it—and if they did, our cops were outside the door.

"Enough," I said after a moment that felt like an eternity. Alex removed his hand, and the guy sucked in ragged breaths, each one sounding like the rasp of a blade against bone.

"Last chance." My words were a lifeline thrown into the abyss he found himself in. "Give me a name, or we go another round. I take a toe…maybe cut your achilles. I could make it to where you never walk again, you stupid fuck. So answer me."

Terror skated across his features, etching itself deeper with every second that passed. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again—but no sound came out, save for the shallow, panting breaths that told me he was still hanging onto life, however tenuously.

"Let's see if you find your voice," I said quietly, motioning for Alex to cover him once more.

Alex did as he was told and held firm, but something shifted—an edge of something dark flitted across his expression, something that didn't sit right with me. Time stretched, ticking by with the heaviness of impending doom. I saw the color drain from the guy's face, his struggles becoming frantic, then feeble.

Alex was suffocating him, nose and mouth covered.

Ready to kill.

"Alex." My voice was a low growl, more warning than word. He didn't move. "Alex!" This time it was a command that sliced through the thick tension in the room.

Finally, he let go, and the perp gulped in air like a drowning man breaking the water's surface.

That's when it happened.

With an effort that seemed to drain what little life he had left, the guy lifted a trembling finger, pointing it directly at Alex. His voice, when it finally broke through, was a ragged whisper steeped in fear and accusation.

"Alex Zhou…it's him," the man said. "Trying to take down your father…and you."